Fear vs Love
by starrystreak
Summary: Fear is only unconquerable if you have nothing equally as strong to match it with. HP/LV onesidedSLASH.


_This is what you could've had_…

Fear wasn't an emotion foreign to him; he had an excellent way of communicating with it, of _controlling _with it. Fear was a common driving force; effective as it was ineffective. Concentrated as it was raging. It was an immeasurable spell of doom and he executed it all to his advantage, for the soldiers of his wouldn't obey if they didn't fear his displeasure.

Fear wasn't an action he didn't know. He knew most followers feared his very existence, his power, his authority. They feared his punishments. He relished in their pain, yet he hated the reason to cause it. If they were only _competent_, they had nothing in the world to fear. Yet they feared. Consistently and constantly, even his most devoted of followers feared him with every flash of temper even if the flash was not directed in their way. It disgusted him how deeply they were affected.

Fear was something he knew very well indeed.

Through fear, he became immortal. Through fear, he raised an army. Through fear, he attacked a small boy and his family, and suddenly filled with fear again that night, he fled. "Gone," some people said. "Destroyed," others rejoiced. But a few knew better and he waited for someone to return to his side to assist him.

No one did for years because they feared him.

It _used_ to trouble him early on; how could he give orders if his followers were so petrified of messing up, so frightened of angering him? That was shortly before he split his soul, then the fear he noticed in others forgot to trouble him further, as if that tiny shred of compassion was separated from him as well. Now it only disgusted him when they feared him too much.

But softly… slowly as if he had forgotten, he suddenly lived with renewed, blinding pain as though he split his soul again. But he was careful with his killings now; he was aware luck was on his side and if _seven_ were dangerous, eight was even more so. He swiftly realized the cause and the fear overwhelmed him again as it had the night sixteen years before; that bloody Potter boy _knew_ the human weakness he had overcome _and_ the means to expel it.

He slept with fear as his only companion.

**-FTU-**

Months later, the final confrontation was afoot, and though the fear remained, the Dark Lord believed in his triumph after calling that brief armistice. Harry Potter would come. The Boy Who Lived would soon be the Boy Who Died, and there would be no further hindrance to his progression to power as he deserved. The Wizarding World would take in his radical changes quickly, due to fear, and all would be right again.

But the boy confused him most. The boy seemed least affected by fear, and even more so tonight. Voldemort had seen him battle others and succeed. It was inconceivable Harry was more powerful, but he definitely could hold his own without a flicker of fear. This startled the Dark Lord most, and yet, he almost…_almost_ admired it. Harry would be one untouchable Death Eater. He would obey without question; _he_ would obey without reservation. Harry would be a powerful anchor on his side if things had been different, but he had given him his chance. No dark lord gave second chances.

"_This is what you could've had…"_ Potter almost whispered. It took everything in him to avoid cackling gleefully. What did Potter know? He, the Dark Lord, could've had his family ripped apart with no friends to stand beside him when his death finally came? How pathetic.

Potter moved slowly through the trees, indiscreetly dropping something as he approached.

_"Dropped a lucky coin, I see?"_ questioned Voldemort in mild curiosity. The others couldn't hear him; he questioned the boy through the link they so unfortunately shared.

_"Something far better than a coin,"_ Potter almost sneered his way. Voldemort grabbed his wand in a quick rush of rage, but controlled it. He decided the boy had earned the right to speak for a moment. _"Something you would scoff at."_

The Dark Lord almost did. _"Ah, a trinket of love. How pathetically disgusting."_

The boy's eyes suddenly sparkled with something he could not place. Perhaps inspiration, but he wasn't sure if he had seen such nonsense in someone's eyes before.

He stepped forward and continued forward as if they were the only two in the forest, and in a way, they were. Just Voldemort and a bloody boy who somehow hadn't died yet. But the boy kept going, as if he had a goal in mind.

"Master!" Bellatrix's voice cried out in a hush. Voldemort simply held his hand aloft to quiet her.

"Ah, I see now," he voiced aloud, almost happy. "You've dropped your wand."

Harry shook his head quietly. "Something far more important."

"Impossible. Only your wand could save you now, and you hold nothing in your hand. Thus, you are conquerable."

"Not quite in the way you would imagine, Riddle," he said softly and continued forwards. They were less than a foot away now.

He hissed in agitation, much like a snake in distress. "You _dare_—?"

Harry, his nemesis, only smiled. "I _dare_ much more than you know."

Voldemort opened his mouth to speak, but his words were literally swallowed in the Potter boy's mouth. Something inside him recoiled swiftly at the touch and he could hear the cries of disdain from his followers. But the boy kept kissing him, and the feeling it contained, the _passion_, the desire, the madness, the swirl of elation, the unnecessary attention, the absolute…fury…clouded his mind.

It lasted all of five seconds and those five seconds were all the boy needed to make his point. Voldemort was already panting heavily at the sheer force of the touch; it burned him from the inside. Never… _Never_… _No one_ touched him that way.

"_That_," the Boy uttered softly, "is what you could've had."

His lipped curled in a sneer, hiding his disdain, concealing his complete and utter fear that Potter would do it again and destroy him from the inside out once more but _succeed_ the second time. "You insolent boy," he growled. "This is the Boy Who Thought!" he called to his Death Eaters. He suddenly was giddy again. "Surely, this was _Dumbledore's_ idea, Potter?" It all made sense now. "You can return to him soon, Potter," he sneered a second time. "For _love_ failed to kill me once again!"

He said the two words that could produce green following that, but the whole world grew black and faded away and both he and the boy catapulted into the darkness. Fear greeted him again at his arrival into the darkness, but this time, it would not let go.

* * *

><p><strong>AN**: _I've never written anything mildly Voldemort/Harry before; it was rather fun. So, did I completely ruin it? I'd really like to know. Honestly, I'd appreciate flames at this point. :D_


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